Those Eyes of Mine

Those Eyes of Mine

The machine beeped. Boiled and seethed. I pressed the button, and water leaked, filling the cup to its brim. A cup of coffee, pure. I opened the window wide, letting the breeze tingle the fuzz on my nape. Sat beneath it, picked up the cigarette from the ashtray that had burned lonely for so long that the ash stretched from its tip almost to the cotton, forming a bridge undisturbed by its weight. I shook it off and pulled on it. The taste of burned butt dominated the tobacco tang. The coffee cleansed it. Drops from the drizzle intruded on my domicile, enhancing the soothing effect of the wind on the dots they marred. The sun had tucked tail and crept behind clouds. Rest, the doctor had prescribed. Nerves, stretched thin, throbbed in harmony with the rain.

Oh, the rain… How could I, doc? The weather called my name.

I donned my shoes and jacket, closed the door. Strode down the stairs to the streets. The slabs of cement towered over, reaching for the skies. The drops welcomed me, painting me gently. A ball snuck in, got trapped between my eyes and glasses, while the rest rained down like arrows on a battlefield. People buzzed up and around. Busy little bees. Yet, however or whomever I tried to peek at, all that I managed to see was but a blur, mangled by the shower. By the rain. By its tears. They paved a path for themselves, dug ruts on my glasses. My vision failed to pierce.

I trailed what I assumed to be their tracks. When one’s feet made space for themselves on the puddles as they stepped and left it vacant when they departed, that’s when the ensuing spot got filled with water. It created a momentary footstep. That’s what I followed, a fleeting moment, along the restless ponds vibrating in seclusion from one another. The vista of concrete proved inescapable, for the moment the puddles were left undisturbed, that’s what they showed: a reflection of grey. Hubs of broken dreams. The vehicles behaved strangely under the rain. They too beeped, stalled, and buzzed around.

The path led me along the blocks, passing from one street to the other. The vistas remained the same. Were they copies of one another, or was I stuck in place? I lifted my head and flicked the flock of drops off my locks.

That was the third bus stop that I approached. The carrier reloaded, its travelers hurrying outside with new ones coming onboard. To avoid the crowd, I lingered in my gait. Pulled out my pack and plucked a treat. The way it nested on my lips brought a moment of respite. The lighter struggled, producing sparks. Again and again. Yet no flame. The rain dampened both. The bus drove off.

I continued my journey with no obstacles in sight, threading the many tracks left behind.

“Need a light?” a question asked from beneath the canopy of the stop.

The mess on my glasses had turned to a layer, a coat of mist. A mush of hair, clothes, legs, and arms. And a lighter, lit with a grey-washed flame. I crouched, touched the light, and tasted the smoke. Pulled my head back into the rain.

“What? You’ll just leave?” the tender voice continued, anchoring me on the dock.

I pondered, was one cigarette enough? No. I towed two butts out of their home and returned the gesture. My glasses slid as I crouched, parked on the peaking bone of my nose. The clouds had slid too, allowing the sun to shoot its beams on the glass walls of the bus stop. Their pallid reflection blinded me, but I felt the pack lighten. The person lagged, suggesting hesitation. Disturbed by the sudden change in the weather, I looked back at the sun, but it was no more. Thicker clouds had settled in. The rain was picking up heat.

“Don’t miss the next one. If you wish to avoid the deluge, that is,” I said, stowing the pack into my pocket.

The hymning tone concealed a plea behind my ear, maybe one of attention or of interaction. Entertaining these ideas had brought me here, so I failed to see a reason for another attempt. My surroundings grew tired, a waterlogged world crying in its stead. Steps continued. The rain poured.

The worse it got, the fewer people brooded. How did I end up here, I wondered, amid this city, amid the crosses of colorless walls, and amid the faceless people. How far had I wandered. How long it had been.

I swerved on the road, heading towards the park. An island with different scenery. Or so I thought. The rain had dug its claws here too, washing away all that would help me recall what was. Think of what could have been. Instead, I was forced to watch what is, in another grey landscape. The sky’s tears battled with the leaves, the branches swung at one another, fierce battles ensued. The road continued straight up to a fountain, where it diverged and transformed into a circle, and restoring itself back into a straight line, it continued. I sat near the formation, for the trees obeyed the road, and the sky with its grey clouds remained visible. And the battles fought turned into echoes from afar.

The rain poured, thickening the layering clog on my glasses, changing it with another, never letting them rest.

Down it poured. My cigarette had long been extinguished, yet the respite it brought remained all the same, and so, I kept sucking on the wet cotton.

Lost, I dabbled with questions I knew I shouldn’t ask. A man’s worst enemy was his own mind. I had hoped for the rain to wash away the colors of my brain too, but they remained, blinking ever so often, showing me what was.

My clothes heavy, burdened with the rain, pulled me down on the bench. My hair too, wet, as if splashed on my scalp. I bit the butt with my teeth and looked above. To the soaring skies. My eyes were protected, so I didn’t flinch; instead, I enjoyed the moment of rain. Enjoyed the moment of solitude. The moment of respite.

The rivers ran, the fountain spat, and the clouds rumbled. I remained. For how long could I remain? For how long would I? My legs pulled in pain, and noise had settled at the bottom of my feet, a numbing pump. My head ached.

I pulled on my dimmed cigarette. In this park, I had hoped to encounter a spark of life. The leaves were falling, the branches were breaking from the wind, and my ankles drowned beneath the rivers. The pouring rain consumed. Hungry, it ate everything… but the pain.

My teeth failed to cling on; my mouth gapped. I dropped my companion. It soaked, increased in weight, and sank. What was another lost cigarette in the rinsing sea?